Asymmetry
by Psykhe-san
Summary: Link wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with only a fragmented memory of his past - and vows to find the truth concealed behind the barriers of his own mind.
1. Dissonance

**~ Hello everyone! I appreciate that you're taking the time to read this, and I hope you'll read future chapters as well! ^_^ I cherish all reviews that I get, so please review if it's convenient! DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything affiliated with Nintendo or Super Smash Bros. Enjoy the story!**

* * *

Like breaking the surface of water, Link awakened.

But he didn't open his eyes. Not yet. He clenched them tightly shut, like a small part of his brain was clinging to some ghost of a long-forgotten survival instinct, his whole body rigid like a board.

He could hear someone talking from far off in the distance.

Confused, he tried listening to the words, but they streamed together; it could have been a foreign language for all he knew. Somebody touched him, his elbow. He stiffened in surprise.

"...becoming responsive again," the same voice said, closer this time. It wasn't a voice that he recognized.

"That's good," said a different voice. "I'm sure _he _wouldn't be happy if we lost this one."

"Are you kidding me?" said the first voice. "We'd be fired. Killed, maybe. I don't know. Just be extra careful with him, okay? I don't want any accidents to happen."

The other voice mumbled something indistinct.

"What?" said the first voice sharply.

"I said, they could have been more careful."

"Yeah? That's none of our business. The Crew can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it – that's the way it's always been."

"That's not fair," said the second voice sullenly.

"Life's not fair," said the first voice. Link felt a pair of cold, gloved hands flatten against his chest. "Oh, hey, kid, you awake already? Can you hear me?"

Link couldn't respond; his lips were too numb, too heavy for speech. His whole body felt like it had turned to ice.

"How many painkillers did you say they gave him?"

"I didn't."

"Well, can you go _find out?"_

The sound of footsteps, fading into the distance. The first voice murmured a few choice words in undertone, and Link felt more hands, touching his ribs, feeling his throat, pulling back the sleeves on his arms. More footsteps, and then the second voice said loudly, "Forty milligrams."

"Forty?"

"Yeah. They inject it into him through needles."

"Forty? Are you sure it was forty?"

"Yes sir."

"An hour?"

"That's what the other doc said."

The cold hands disappeared. "That's far too much! Take the needles out _right now!"_

"But -"

"Do it! Do you want him to overdose? Damn, what was Reynolds _thinking?_ Forty milligrams! Ridiculous!" As he spoke, the man grabbed something on Link's arm – a tube, it felt like – and delicately slid the needle out from under his skin.

"God!" he said crossly. "No wonder he was so still! He was probably close to a coma!" Cold fingers rubbed the spot on Link's arm quickly. Then the pressure disappeared, leaving a slight throbbing ache where it had been. "Reynolds is such an idiot."

"Did you hear what he did _last _week? There was that other patient, you know, the guy with the blue hair – well, Reynolds was supposed to check up on him, and -"

Then, like a radio losing reception, Link slipped away from the conversation, drifting back into the deep waters from whence he came, strange ideas spinning in his mind...needles, doctors, and blue hair...and soon he was unconscious yet again.

It felt like hours and hours later when he finally resurfaced, but perhaps it was only minutes. Drowning in the dark waters, he had no way of telling. For the first time, he began to wonder.

_Where am I?_

Some of the feeling was slowly returning to his limbs, particle by particle. He could tell that he was laying on something very soft. A bed? The earlier conversation returned to him in pieces, and confusion reigned in his mind. Painkillers? A bed? Was he in a hospital?

His eyelids fluttered open.

Immediately, he was greeted by blinding white. Startled, his closed his eyes again. Then, slowly, he peeked through his eyelashes.

Yes, he decided. A hospital. Even though Hyrule never had what some might consider a "modern" hospital, he knew enough about them to know what they looked like. He opened his eyes a little more, adjusting to the harsh artificial lighting. Nurses and doctors, dressed in white to blend in with the walls, bustled around several dirty beds or huddled in corners, poring over their clipboards and murmuring urgently to each other. As soon as one nurse made eye contact with him, she hurried over, smiling in a motherly way.

"I see you're awake," she said in a sweet, sugary voice. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

Link took a moment to find the right words. Speech was still difficult; his words slurred together almost unintelligibly. "Where am I?"

The nurse felt his forehead. "You're a little clammy. Would you like something hot to drink?"

"No," said Link. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down. "Where am I?" he asked again.

"You're in a recovery facility," said the nurse.

Link tried to remember anything that happened before waking up, and found it extremely difficult. He started as early as he could. His childhood was clear as day. As he started getting further and further into his teenage memories, there were missing gaps. Eventually, it was just a huge blank, like a stretch of ocean where you couldn't see either shore. "I don't remember anything," he said. "Why can't I remember anything?"

The nurse looked at him with too much sympathy. "What can't you remember, sweetheart?"

This was such a ridiculous question that Link laughed. "How I got here. Let's start with that. Am I hurt?"

"Your mind is hurt," said the nurse.

Link stared at her. "My mind...?"

"Sometimes," said the nurse, still in that sickly sweet voice, "when you have bad memories, your mind protects you by forgetting them."

"I don't understand," said Link. "What bad memories? What happened?"

The nurse's lips pressed together in a tight line, and he knew that he wasn't going to get an answer. "Calm down, now. You don't want to excite yourself. It could hamper with the recovery process."

"Why do I need painkillers though?" asked Link.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Painkillers. The other people...the voices from earlier...they said something about forty milligrams of painkillers. And they talked about some King -"

"Ah," said the nurse. "Well, hearing voices is a common sign of schizophrenia." She scribbled something down on a notepad. "We'll get that checked out later."

"They were real, though," said Link, more confused than ever. "They were two male nurses, and they talked about painkillers and somebody called the Crew, and they said the King wouldn't be happy -"

"Often the voices in your head are very realistic," said the nurse. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything, Master Link."

Link tried to wrap his head around the magnitude of the situation, but it slipped away, like water cupped in soft hands, dripping through the slits of his fingers.

"Okay," he said, slumping back in his bed.

"When you're feeling well enough," said the nurse, taking his pulse, "there is a psychiatrist here who would like to see you. He sees all the patients. It's just to get an idea of your...condition."

"I have a condition?" said Link. _It's got to be amnesia, right?_

"We'll see," said the nurse briskly. "In the meantime, you just get your rest. If you start hurting anywhere, we'll give you more painkillers."

"Why would I be hurting?" asked Link. "What happened to me?"

The nurse's lips parted and her eyes widened, as if she had just realized what she had said. "Oh dear! Don't you worry about that. The psychiatrist will explain everything. Please, don't think too hard and stress yourself out. Well, good day to you. Call someone if you need anything." She dipped her head, flustered, and hurried off.

Link lay in the bed for a while, thinking. Slowly, he wiggled all of his toes. Then he rippled the muscles in his legs. They were a bit sore, like he had been running, but nothing unmanageable. Nothing that he would need painkillers for. He stuck his hand down the white T-shirt somebody had dressed him in, feeling his chest. Thick bandages criss-crossed in every direction. Then, gingerly, he twisted and ran a hand down his back. He winced. It was just as bad, if not worse. Bandages everywhere. He prodded them, wrinkling his nose as the pressure burned.

What had _happened _to him? And why was everyone so determined that he should not find out? Why was he here? Link's head spun as he tried to recall something – anything. Some plausible reason for why he had woken up in this white-walled place, surrounded by bustling nurses and covered in bandages. He couldn't remember getting hurt. Perhaps he had taken a bad fall off of his horse...And who was this King? Hyrule didn't have a king; just a princess, Zelda.

The name seemed to jar something deep in his conscience.

"Master Link," said the nurse, appearing by the bed with a clipboard. "What would you like to eat?"

"I don't want to eat," said Link, sitting up. "I want to know what's going on."

"The psychiatrist, Dr. Steele, will help you sort out your confusion," said the nurse.

"Then that's who I want to talk to."

The nurse flipped through a few pages on her clipboard. "You're not scheduled to see him until six."

"I want to see him now," said Link stubbornly.

"I'm afraid that the meeting would be too stressful for your current state," said the nurse, equally as stubborn. "If you would wait until six -"

"I have to see him now!" Link insisted, panic creeping into his voice. The more he lay in this bed, the weirder the situation seemed, and the more convinced he became that he was going crazy. "Please!"

The nurse opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. Finally, she said, "Alright. Please calm down, Master Link."

She scribbled something in her clipboard and promptly stuck out a hand. Link swung his legs around to the side of the bed and stood shakily on his own two legs, ignoring her proffered hand. Pain shot up his body like venom. A hiss slipped through his teeth.

The nurse tried to brace him against her own shoulders, but he shifted away, muttering, "I can walk."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked the nurse.

Link took a few steps forward, testing himself.

"Alright," said the nurse in a resigned voice. "His office is the open door directly across from you."

She stood watching him as he hobbled forward, gradually straightening up and walking in a somewhat normal manner, if very slowly. He could feel the orderlies staring at him, but he kept his gaze steadily forward, blocking them out, focusing only on that open door. After a few painful minutes, he stumbled through the doorway into a neatly organized office, where a silver-haired man sat at a desk with a name tag that read, steele.

"How are you?" he said, looking up and smiling at Link as though his arrival was completely expected. "You're Master Link, I take it?"

Link nodded.

"Well, come on, sit down," said Steele, indicating the open seat across from him. "And let's have a chat."

Link hesitated, and then plunked himself down in the chair, aware of the calculating gaze that was boring into his head.

"What brings you here?" asked Steele.

"I want to know what's going on," said Link immediately.

Steele overlapped his fingers and placed them on the desk, smiling at Link in a fatherly, sympathetic manner. "That's easy enough! You were in a very terrible accident."

Link waited, but he didn't elaborate. Eventually he prompted, "An accident?"

"Oh, yes," said Steele. "You were hunting -"

Images of the forest, blurred and green.

" - and you fell off your horse -"

His horse, Epona, screaming, stomping.

" - fell down a cliff -"

The sensation of tumbling and tossing, burning, smashing.

" - and were knocked unconscious."

Darkness.

"Some of your concerned villagers tried to heal you," said Steele, watching him carefully, "but they realized that their medical expertise did not cover the extent of your wounds. So they sent you here, where you arrived just on the edge of death.

"You don't remember any of this, of course, which you can blame on your brain, which appears to have blocked out the unpleasant memories. Brains are kind of funny that way."

Link was silent for a moment, processing all of this. So he had suffered an injury while hunting. Except...he almost never hunted. The village usually just ate crops. When they needed meat, they bought it clean and fresh from Castle Town's market; they didn't snag it straight out of the wild. Not unless the circumstances were dire.

He shrugged it off; the details didn't matter. Besides, nitpicking would only waste time, and they were professionals, after all. They knew what they were talking about.

"So when can I go home?" he asked.

Steele's mouth tightened.

"Well," he said. "Well. That's the complication."

There was a long pause.

"I don't understand," said Link.

"The villagers reported some very interesting things," said Steele quietly. "Concerning your behavior. They said that you had been...excuse me..." He picked up a manila folder and rifled through its contents, pulling out a piece of paper. "Talking nonsense," he read. "Yelling at others for no reason. Consulting an imaginary person. Purposefully breaking random objects. Disappearing for long periods of time. Exhibiting odd behaviors that endangered everyone in the vicinity." He shot Link a piercing look over the top of the paper. "In other words, going insane."

"Wait a second," said Link loudly, standing up. "I did _not _go insane."

"You did," Steele said calmly. "Why do you think that you cannot remember certain memories, certain days, certain people? Your mind is diseased, Master Link. And it's our job to heal it, just like we healed your body."

"No," said Link, feeling both frustrated and utterly uncertain. "I would know...I would know if I was crazy..."

"That's how insanity works," said Steele. "You don't know you have it until it completely controls you. You won't be here forever – just until we get a better idea of your condition...and come as close as we can to healing it. Until then, you pose a danger to yourself and everyone in your village."

"You have the wrong person," said Link. He was trembling. "I'm not crazy. I'm not. Ask anyone."

"We did," said Steele sadly. He handed the paper the Link. "Read that if you wish. It's the full report."

But Link didn't want to read the full report. He wanted to escape this place, to go home and pretend that nothing had ever happened. He threw the paper back at Steele and stormed out of the office, stopped moments later by two guards with iron grips.

"I'm sorry, Master Link," said Steele from behind him. "But we cannot let you go home until we have cured you."

Link was too busy fighting the guards' controlling grips to respond.

"Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself." Steele grabbed his arms as well, and their combined strength melted his own; he was forced into submission. "Do you _want _to put yourself – and others – in danger? You already attempted to commit suicide once. You didn't just fall off your horse – you jumped off of it."

Link shook his head vigorously. This couldn't be true...it couldn't be happening...

"Yes, you did," said Steele, spinning him around to face him. "There were several eyewitnesses. And had you not been taken to this particular hospital, what do you suppose you might have done next? Something doubly as dangerous, I'm sure!"

"You're wrong," said Link.

"You can say that all you like," said Steele sternly. "It's not going to change anything." He nodded at the guards. "Boys. Please escort Master Link to his new living quarters."

Link felt rage rise up in his chest. He thrashed against the guards grip, surprised by how _strong _he was – how much power he could force through the arms that he had so recently used to hug the village's children. Or was it a long time ago? But the strength wasn't enough. Another guard came running along to help, and the three of them carted him down the hallway.

He was numb with shock and disbelief; he offered no resistance and stumbled along in silence, trying desperately to comprehend what had just been presented to him. After many twists and turns, they reached the blank, numberless door that was to become his prison. One guard unlocked the door with a number pad and the others shoved Link into the room, into total darkness, and slammed the door behind him.

Link slowly picked himself off of the freezing cement floor. Blackness pressed on him from all sides, smothering, like a thick blanket. He ached all over.

"Hello?" he croaked.

Nobody answered him save for the faint rebounds of his own voice.

He felt unsafe there, half-expecting lions to lunge out of nowhere and devour him, or maybe to find a skeleton chained to the wall. Hands outstretched, he shuffled forward until his hands met a wall. He followed the outline of the room, inch by inch. It was a small room – smaller than the cottages back home, and that was saying something. At least it was devoid of dead bodies and wild animals. It was just him and his thoughts.

Link slumped down against a wall and buried his head in his arms. Perhaps he would prefer the lions. His head spun with uncertainty, with raw anger, with horrible shame. Was anything the doctor said true? What if it was? What if he was truly insane?

_Okay, _he thought, shaking his head to clear it._ Let's look this through logically. One step at time. No reason yet to panic...What's the last thing you remember?_

But even that simple question was not an easy one to answer. His memory was clouded and fragmentary, as dubious as a half-forgotten dream. Again the fractured memory of falling off Epona came to him, and he remembered flying through the forest with great urgency, but the euphoria of grasping a tangible memory did not last long; the memory became confusing, filled with pain, fear, shouting, and the sensation of falling...

Suddenly something else came back to him. He remembered actually leaving the horse's back. Steele was right; he jumped.

But that did not sit well with him, and it was not just the knowledge that he would never commit suicide. He thought hard, straining his brain to remember. There was a missing element here; what was it?

His head snapped up out of his hands. He _had _jumped – but not to end his life. To preserve it. He had been trying to avoid something dangerous. The urgency at which he rode suddenly took on an entirely different meaning. But what was that 'something'? What had driven him to horseback? What scheme was at place here?

Answerless questions spun around in circles in his mind until he grew dizzy. Perhaps there was no scheme. Perhaps he was chasing a stray goat or a thief, and he ran into some trouble on the way. Or maybe his mind was creating false memories. It didn't matter. He was still stuck in this cold cell, and everybody seemed to believe that he was crazy.

_If I'm crazy, _Link thought, _how am I able to think about things logically?_

_There are different ways of being crazy, _a snide voice in his head answered him. _Besides, if you're sane, how come you don't remember anything that's happened in the past month? And bits and pieces before that? And what about the report? Do you think Steele really took the trouble to forge that? And for what purpose?_

He sank down lower. His weak denial couldn't stand up to basic scrutiny. Maybe he was insane after all.

Everything seemed to crumble down around him. The very foundations upon which he built his life seemed to be melting, pitching him into madness. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his face against his knees, shaking. This was too much. He floundered around in his own mind, reaching out for some small scrap of comfort, and latched onto memories of his childhood. Back then, at least, he was certain of his sanity. He clung to those memories as if they were life preservers. Memories of his parents before they died. Memories of the village, his adopted family.

_But I'll never see them again, _he thought.

He sank back into dark, dark waters and drowned there.


	2. Your New Home

When Link awoke, he felt a surge of pure panic. It was completely black, and he was numb; he couldn't see, hear, or feel anything. For one absurd moment he thought he was dead. Then he came to his senses.

Link pushed himself upright, feeling pain sing in his muscles. His mouth was as desiccated as a desert, his lips cracked and bleeding. At first he was merely confused. And then the memories hit, cascading onto his brain as though a floodgate had been opened up. He felt as though he couldn't catch a breath. Then, as the whirling turmoil of emotions began to settle down, he realized what had woken him up – loud voices outside of his cell.

A slit open in his door, flooding the cell with light. Link could make out two dull brown eyes.

Then the door opened.

A bright screen of light pierced his eyes like daggers; he threw an arm up over his face.. More guards stood before him. The same guards, in fact. He eyed them apprehensively over his sleeve.

"Up," said the one in front.

Figuring it would be useless to disobey, Link stood up.

"Come," growled a different guard.

He stepped forward; they seized him and pulled him roughly down the hallway, their grips so tight that he couldn't feel his arms. Eventually they reached the doorway of what appeared to be a small, dirty lounge. Link could see several people inside, sitting idly around a table.

They pushed him inside.

Link stumbled a little, feeling the blood gush back into circulation in his arms. He turned around to the guards, who were watching him in the doorway. "What is this?"

"Your new home," said one of them in a deep, rumbling voice.

Link stared at him, waiting for clarification, but the guards merely looked back, stony-faced. Eventually a female voice said from behind him, "Boys. You can go. We'll explain everything to him."

A soft hand touched Link's wrist. Reflexively, he pulled away.

"Steady there," said the voice. He turned, taking in the sight of a tall, statuesque blonde with her hair thrown back into a sharp ponytail. She was dressed in a faded gray, unbecoming uniform, and that, coupled with the broom in her hand, suggested to Link that perhaps she was a very low-ranking worker. She raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. "He'll do."

"One more thing," said a guard. Without warning, he grabbed Link's left hand. Link thought for a moment they were going to brand him with a hot poker, like he was a criminal or cattle. But the guard only took what appeared to be a fingerless glove and slipped it onto his hand, clamping it shut.

"What is this?" asked the woman. "Does he have a deformity or something?"

The guard shrugged. "Orders." He turned to Link and spoke curtly. "You are not to open that or take it off. You are never to bare your left hand. Any attempts to open the covering will break the bonds, and if we find they are frayed in the slightest, you will be flayed within an inch of your life. Do you understand?"

This was so bizarre that Link was at a loss for words, but he managed to nod.

"Okay, let's get you settled in," said the woman. She flashed a smile at the guards. "Take care."

Their faces softened into returning smiles.

"Take care yourself," said the guard in front. He bowed, and then they were gone, shutting the doors behind them. Link heard the lock of a door and felt his last hope for escape deflate like a punctured balloon.

"I'm Samus," said the woman, extending a hand.

He shook it. It was calloused and scarred, and he felt a sudden gush of respect. "Link."

"I like you, Link," said Samus. "You carry yourself well. You're proud, like me."

Link smiled uncertainly.

"Let me introduce you to the others," said Samus, gesturing to the other people seated at the table. They were all staring at him. "You guys, come up and meet Link."

Cautiously, like one pack of wolves meeting another, they sauntered up to where Link and Samus stood. They were all dressed in the same drab gray uniform. Perhaps they were all workers. Perhaps he was the only insane one here. Link tried to push the uneasy feelings away.

"Hi," said one of them cheerfully. At first glance he appeared to be twelve years old. But from his timeless eyes and the lines of maturity on his face, Link assessed that he was much older than he looked. His bright blue eyes and ruffled brown hair gave the appearance of friendliness.

"Hello," said Link quietly.

"That's Pit," said Samus. "You're not shy, are you, Link?"

"I bet he's just overwhelmed," said a girl kindly, a stunningly pretty blonde who seemed to remind Link of someone. Her voice was the highest, breathiest soprano he'd ever heard. "I'm Peach. Hiya!"

"And I'm Marth," said the last of them, an older-looking boy with blue hair and eyes to match. He shook Link's hand. "You're a swordsman."

"How can you tell?" asked Link, surprised.

"It's not hard," Marth replied. "One swordsman can always pick out another."

"Well, that's all of us," said Samus.

"No," Marth corrected. "Not all of us."

They simultaneously looked at the corner, where a dark shape was huddled.

"Oh, yeah," said Samus, her nose wrinkling. "Over there is Snake." Her voice dropped. "He truly is mad. Madder than the rest of us, at least."

"He's always talking to himself," said Pit with disgust.

"He can't help it," whispered Peach.

"Well, it's still weird," said Pit. "He's got this weird conspiracy. He thinks everybody is out to get him." He shook his head.

Link instantly felt better, knowing that there was somebody crazier than he was. Then he felt worse. Hadn't he debated the same thing? Hadn't he thought that there was some scheme going on, that perhaps somebody was out to get _him?_

To distract himself, he asked, "So are you guys workers?"

They all laughed heartily.

"What?"

"We're patients, honey," said Samus, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Just like you."

"Like me - ?"

"Yeah, kid," said Marth, grinning. "According to the orderlies, we're all totally batty."

They all nodded, exchanging amused looks as though enjoying some private joke.

"And you're okay with that?" asked Link, bemused. "I mean, you don't question it or anything?"

"We did," said Pit sadly.

"But it all makes sense, you know," said Marth, the grin falling from his face. "The reports, the memory loss..."

Link's head snapped up. "You lost your memory too?"

"Well, yeah," said Marth, looking startled. "That's one of the main signs of..."

"Of what?" asked Link. He was getting frustrated with their complete acceptance of it all. "Insanity isn't just one thing...it can be a bunch of different things, a bunch of different disorders. And it's subjective. Sometimes what's mad to one person is perfectly sane to another."

When they just stared at him, his voice rose. "Who are they to call us crazy? What do they know about us? They've never even spoken to me! For all I know, they could have forged that report!"

"Better be careful," said Marth lowly. "You're starting to sound like Snake."

"Maybe Snake's right," said Link recklessly. "And there _is _something going on here. Something more than we think."

Pit stood up from his stool. "Link, I get where you're coming from...really, I do. But we all _remember _being crazy. We remember hurting people, yelling for no reason...it was awful."

Peach shuddered delicately.

"Wait," said Link, confused now. "You _remember? _I thought you just said you lost your memory."

"We lost it at first," said Pit, sitting back down and fumbling with something at the back of his shirt. "But they make you go to therapy sessions. After a few of those, you start to remember."

"But you wish you wouldn't," murmured Samus.

They looked at each other with sad, knowing eyes, letting the silence thicken with the impact of her words. Link's skin crawled. If what they were saying was true, then...perhaps everything Steele said was the truth, also. And soon, he would start to remember all of the insane acts that he had supposedly committed, all off the dangerous antics he had exposed the villagers to. He felt very sick.

"So, let's go through the daily schedule, shall we?" said Samus, her arm still around Link's shoulders. She nodded toward the mops in the corner. "Every day we wake up, take our showers, eat our breakfast...and clean. We have certain chores we have to do, like mopping floors, wiping windows...you know, that sort of thing."

She let her arm fall and strode toward the door. "After lunch, once a week, the orderlies take us to different counselors' offices for a therapy session. Sometimes we do group therapy, sometimes not. They usually don't take long – an hour or so."

"What are they like?" asked Link apprehensively.

"Sort of hard," Samus said.

"Hard?"

"Emotionally. They drill you about a lot of stuff you don't want to think about." Her face hardened. "Sometimes they make you feel horrible. Other times, they make you feel great. Either way, I think I'm getting better."

There was a long silence. To break it, Link asked, "If we don't have therapy, what do we do?"

Samus looked grateful. "Lessons," she said. "Over our pasts, over the world around us – everything we've missed. Sometimes we train physically. You look like you'd be pretty good at that."

"Don't forget about the tests," piped up Peach from the corner.

Samus snapped her fingers. "Oh yeah! The tests. Once a month, they test you to see if you're getting better."

"What sort of tests?" asked Link curiously.

"They ask you some really weird questions," said Samus. "Logic-based, mostly. Like...eh, hey, you guys, what was the one with the boxes and the apples?"

"Damned if I remember," said Marth, twirling a mop like a sword.

"I remember," said Pit mildly. "It was...something like, 'There are three boxes -'"

"I thought there were two -"

" - no, no, three. It was, 'There are three boxes. One is labeled 'APPLES'. Another is labeled 'ORANGES'. And the last one is labeled 'APPLES AND ORANGES'. You know that each one is labeled incorrectly. You may pick one fruit from one box you choose. How can you label the boxes correctly?'"

"That's right," said Marth. "I got this one wrong."

"Everybody did."

"Three boxes," mused Link, "and they're all labeled incorrectly...and you can only pick one fruit..." He frowned. "Uh..."

"Hard, isn't it."

"Give me a minute." Three boxes...labeled incorrectly...He looked down at the tabletop, thinking. "Well, if they're all labeled incorrectly, then the one labeled 'APPLES & ORANGES' is incorrect, correct?"

"Correct," said Pit.

"So it's safe to say that if you take a fruit from that box, and it's an apple, then all of the fruits in the box are apples. Same with an orange."

"Right," chimed Peach.

"So if you take an apple, then that box would be 'APPLES'. And that would make the other box that says 'APPLES'...that would make it 'ORANGES', right? And the other 'ORANGES' box would be 'APPLES AND ORANGES'." Link tried to sort it out in his mind and felt a small ping of triumph when he did. "There, that wasn't so hard. Was I right?"

"No," said Pit.

The others weren't smiling anymore.

"Oh." Link was disappointed, but he shrugged it off. "Okay. What's the right answer then?"

Pit shrugged, looking bleak. "Nobody knows. But I used the same answer you just told me, and they told me I was wrong. They don't give out the right answers – they only shoot down yours."

After a pause, Link asked, "Has anybody ever gotten one right?"

Everybody shook their heads, looking glum.

"And the only way you get out is to pass?"

"Passing the tests is only part of it, though," Pit explained heavily. "They also measure your progress through the therapy sessions and the school lessons. And your behavior, of course."

"Isn't there any kind of medication?"

"Oh, yeah!" said Samus, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Link, I totally forgot! You're supposed to take your pill today. Everybody has to do it," she added in response to his questioning look.

Link felt suspicion kindle inside of him. "Are you sure they're not -?"

"What?" said Samus, suddenly unfriendly. "Drugging us?"

"Well, yes." He could feel himself bristling. "Are you saying you just obediently take this medication without even knowing what it does?"

"Link, stop being paranoid," she snapped. "We told you, it's not some big conspiracy. " She settled into a stool. Link slowly sat down next to her. She took a deep breath and looked at him."Sorry. Snake has burned out all of my patience with this kind of nonsense. I have to remember that you're new."

"The pill helps restore our minds to normal," said Pit quietly. He started pulling his shirt over his head. "We can feel the difference, too. All of this is real, Link. Steele was telling the tru -"

"Good Goddess!" Link gasped, falling backwards out of his stool. He hit the ground hard; a constellation of darting silver stars emerged before his eyes.

"Link?" asked Samus in alarm. Marth burst out laughing.

Link leapt to his feet, ignoring the dull ache that was spreading up through his spine and chest. "He has – those are –"

"Oh, yeah," said Pit in mild surprise, tossing his shirt aside. "I have wings."

He did; they unfurled like maps, large and feathered and magnificent. Link stared on in wonder. This was unlike anything he had seen in Hyrule.

"You like 'em?" said Pit, ruffling his wingfeathers and smiling broadly.

"They're...unreal," Link breathed.

Peach and Marth were both giggling like schoolgirls.

"Thanks," said Pit happily. "Unfortunately I can't keep them out like this...because Marth's a wimp..."

Marth abruptly stopped laughing and glowered at him. "I'm allergic!"

"Yeah, 'allergic'," muttered Samus.

Marth rounded on her angrily. "Do you guys think I have a weird phobia of feathers or something? I really am allergic! My face swells up and I sneeze a lot –"

"Really?" said Pit, cocking his head. He plucked a feather off of his wing and held it out to Marth. "I'd sort of like to see that."

"Somebody hold him down!" shouted Samus.

Marth fell over in his attempt to get away from them; cussing, he scrambled to his feet and retreated to the farthest wall while Peach, Samus, and Pit laughed until they couldn't breathe. Link was still too fascinated to join in the festivities. He stared at Pit's snow-white wings until the angel tucked them against his back, lashed them to his body with a belt, and pulled his shirt back over his head.

"Ah," Pit sighed. "It's always nice to let them breathe."

"So where are you from?" asked Link. _Surely not from Hyrule or anywhere around it..._

"Angel Land," said Pit. "You?"

"Hyrule."

"Ah."

Link knew of the other worlds, of the other universes that existed parallel to his own. The Mushroom Kingdom, Altea, Dream Land...it was rare to travel between them, but rulers often met with other rulers to discuss peace treaties and alliances. A war between worlds had not happened for hundreds of years, but they did happen, and they were devastating. However, Link did not know much of other worlds beyond their names.

"Where are we now?" he wondered.

"Damned if we know," said Marth, still pressed against the far wall.

"Well, I think that's enough questions for now," said Samus with finality, touching his wrist and pulling him toward the back of the room. "Link's gotta take his pill and change into his new clothes."

He felt his old instincts rear up against the idea. "Actually..." He stepped away from her touch. "I'm tired...I think I'll just..."

"Aw," laughed Samus. "He's self-conscious!"

"What? No, I –"

"No need to be shy," she said. "We're like family here."

She grabbed the ends of his shirt, and before he could protest, yanked it up over his head. She waved it around, laughing playfully.

"You'll get over that shyness if I have anything to do with –"

She stopped abruptly.

As Link stood frozen, totally nonplussed, Marth stepped forward, craning his neck. "What? What's..." His mouth fell open. "Jesus."

Everyone stared at his chest, at the thick bandages that lined every surface and the countless scabs that peppered the skin in between. Their eyes raked his arms, taking in the smaller, puckered scars they had not noticed before. Some old, some fresh. Samus reached out a thin, cool hand and touched his neck, tracing a scar there that had been previously hidden by the shirt.

"What _happened _to you?" she whispered.

Link snatched back his shirt and yanked it on. "I fell off a horse."

"Into what?" said Marth, almost sounding awed. "A bed of nails?"

Link suddenly felt tired and fed up. He turned away, desiring nothing more than to take a hot bath and go to bed.

"I don't know," he said. "Is there a shower here?"

"Yeah, there's one in the back," said Samus slowly. "But Link, are you sure it's safe to get those wet?"

"I don't know," he said again, and left her standing there.

The shower was small but clean, and the water was freezing cold, but he was so glad to be clean that he didn't care. He scrubbed every surface with the gritty bar of soap, clenching his teeth when the wounds stung. It felt nice, almost fulfilling, to be rid of the grime that had built up on his skin. Several times he pulled curiously at the brown, fingerless glove that shielded most of his left hand from view, but it was unrelenting. Eventually he gave up and let it be. Besides, it was only mildly annoying, and the punishment for breaking the small bonds that held it together was too severe to be worth it. He pushed his curiosity away.

He threw his head back, letting the water slide like rain down his face, contemplating everything that had happened. He half-expected to wake up to reality, but if the cold, refreshing feel of water on his skin didn't jar him to consciousness, then perhaps this _was _reality. He absently traced the paths of the gashes in his skin, now scabbed over with dried blood. Then he made a decision. He would cooperate. He would attend therapy, and take the medicine, and try his best to pass the tests. It was his only option left. He would not be like Snake, curled up and muttering about conspiracies. He had to at least try – he had to try and get better for the village children. With his motivation clear in mind, he shut the shower off and wrapped up in a towel.

A small bundle of gray clothes lay at the edge of the shower. He pulled them inside the obscurity of the curtains and slipped into them. Now he truly was one of them.

Shaking the water out of his hair, Link walked out to join the others, dropping the wet bandages into a trash can as he went and ignoring the painful chafing of the shirt against his injuries. Samus bounded forward to greet him.

"Oh, Link, you look adorable," cried Peach from the table.

"He's alright," said Samus indifferently. Then she smiled, shaking a pill bottle in front of his face. "Ready for your meds?"

"Yes," said Link, perhaps with more intensity than was necessary.

Samus spilled one into her palm. He picked it up, hesitated for only a second, dropped it into his mouth, and swallowed.

"Oops," said Samus. "You probably should have eaten something first."

"That's alright," said Link dismissively. "I'm really not hungry."

He waited to feel something, but there was no change. Perhaps the pill really was harmless.

"We should probably go to bed," said Pit, standing up and stretching. "I call the cot by the sink."

"That's my cot," complained Marth.

"If you wanted it, you should have called it."

"Samus!"

"Rules are rules, Marth," said Samus, rolling her eyes. "They're all the same freakin' cot anyway, why does it matter? Help me get Link his bed."

They all helped to pull a new cot out of a small closet and opened it up. It was thin; when Link tentatively lay down, he could feel bars through the bedding. Like everything else, it was impeccably clean.

"Thanks guys," he said, and he meant it. Unusual trust began to blossom within him. He felt like he could tell them anything, could trust them implicitly with every secret he had. Had they asked, he would have spilled about his insecurities, his childhood crushes, his family...It was both an exhilarating and a strange feeling. They were truly friends now. They were all bound together by one thing – their insanity.

_How funny, _he thought as he murmured his "goodnight"s to the others and closed his eyes. _Friendships can be formed from almost anything._

And with this newfound trust on his mind, he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Who Are You?

The next morning began on a sour note. He woke up feeling uncomfortable, sore, itchy, and uneasy. All of the happiness he had discovered last night seemed to have melted away with the dawn. All of the others took their pills as soon as they woke up and were soon chattering cheerfully away about their dreams, but Link waited, staring at the bottle in his hands, distrustful. He finally shoved it aside and stalked to the sink.

"Agh!"

He had tripped over Snake, still curled up on the floor.

"Sorry," he said, reaching out to Snake uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

Snake looked up and Link stepped back. His eyes were wild but sharp, crazed but intelligent, and glowed with an unmatched fierceness. They were like an animal's eyes. He grabbed the collar of Link's shirt and pulled him closer. His breath puffed across Link's face, smelling strongly of peppermint and alcohol.

"Who...are...you?" croaked Snake.

Those three, seemingly harmless words triggered something in his brain. Something unpleasant, something buried and forgotten. A nightmare coming out of hibernation, uncoiling from its dormancy.

_Who are you?_

He stopped breathing. He seemed to have forgotten how. Terror, thick and crushing, wound around him like a snake and squeezed. Blood ran down his face. It poured from his eyes, his nose, his mouth - a steady river of red, smelling of copper, blinding him, choking him...Pain seared through his body, the worst pain he had ever experienced...he felt he would die from it...

And a voice, rough with hatred, shouting, _Who are you? Who are you?_

A different voice, softer, younger, hoarse from screaming, _Please, please, don't – I'll tell you – just stop – please – STOP – I'LL DO ANYTHING -_

Link suddenly jerked back to the present.

He was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. He pressed a hand to his cheek and pulled it away. There was no trace of blood.

"What's going on here?" asked a voice from behind him. It was cold with anger. Samus.

Link came to realize that Snake was still gripping the front of his shirt. He gently disentangled himself and stood up, trying to breathe normally again.

"N-Nothing," he said breathlessly. "We were just...we were just talking." He turned back to Snake, who was looking blankly into space. "I'm Link."

Snake didn't react.

"Listen here," snarled Samus, stalking in front of Snake and glaring down at him. "You do not _touch _him. You get it, you crazy son of a bitch? This boy is off limits."

Snake's eyes flickered up to her and then back down.

"Good," said Samus, sounding satisfied. She looked at Link critically. "You look kinda shaken up. What'd he do?"

"Nothing."

Link felt drained, weak; he did not understand the terrifying visions that he had just experienced. There had been all that blood...and now nothing. And who did that voice belong to? The young one, the one that pleaded for mercy? He held his head in his hands and sat on the edge of a cot. This was too bizarre, too frightening. He felt sick to his stomach. So much blood...

"Samus," he whispered.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Do you ever hallucinate?"

Samus stopped walking. "Hallucinate?" She appeared alarmed. "No, why? Do you?"

"I did, just now," said Link, his voice cracking. "There was a boy, and something terrible was happening to him. And I felt all this blood on my face..."

"A boy?" asked Samus. She looked very serious. "Who?"

"I don't know," said Link. "I didn't recognize his voice." He looked at her desperately. "I'm not bleeding, am I?"

"No, no, you're fine..."

He didn't understand why she looked so frightened. He wanted comfort, not more unease. Then her earlier words sank in.

"You've never hallucinated?" He looked round at the others, who were all staring at him with the same uncomfortable expressions. "Haven't any of you?"

They all shook their heads.

"Take your pill, Link," said Pit lowly. "That'll help. It's probably just the stress getting to you...I mean, being here for the first time, learning everything...it's a lot to take in."

Link obediently swallowed the pill, wrinkling his nose against the sour taste of it in his throat. He immediately felt better.

"Yeah, probably," he said.

In fact, he felt one hundred percent better, the vision melting from his mind like ice on hot pavement. He felt that strange but welcome sense of peace return to his heart, and he could breathe easily again, knowing that everybody here was his friend. Pit was right; the vision had come out of stress.

Everybody seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Sometimes," said Peach in a hushed voice, "if you talk about stuff like that – you know, hallucinations and stuff - the orderlies take you away..."

"Where do they take you?" asked Link, his curiosity piqued.

"I don't know. They don't come back."

"Oh." Strangely, he didn't feel worried.

"I expect it'll only be a matter of time before they come for Snake," said Samus. Then she muttered, "Good riddance."

They folded up the cots and stored them in the closet. Link's mind was mercifully clear of the troubling hallucination. He could laugh and partake in the group's chatter without a fear in the world. He thought about the resolution he made in the shower. It seemed so easy now, almost childishly attainable. Filled with confidence, he sat with the others around a plastic table to wait for the arrival of breakfast.

"I hope the Boys are bringing it again," said Peach dreamily.

Once again, Link was left in the dark. "The Boys?"

"The guards," said Samus. "Everyone just calls them the Boys. They've been here forever."

"Oh, those guys." Dislike lurked under the film of his happiness.

"They're nice," said Peach. "And pretty. They're nice and pretty."

Samus threw her a significant look. "Peach, you know they're off-limits."

"What?" Peach pouted. Then she said slyly, her eyes narrowing to cat-like slits, _"You _talk to them all the time. You _flirt _with them. Why can't I?"

Samus lost her playful smile. "Because I said so. Besides, you might get in trouble."

"No-o, you're just being bossy."

Pit yawned. "Can I take my wings out now?"

"No," said Marth immediately.

Pit scowled at him. "I wasn't asking _you."_

"No."

"Well, how would you feel if you had wings, and you had to keep them bundled up all the time?"

"I don't have wings," said Marth, "so I don't really know. Or care."

"And I'm not allergic," Pit snapped. "So _I _don't really know, or care, about what you say."

Samus looked exasperated. "Okay," she said. "Let's not get riled up. Marth, if you have a problem with his wings, you can move over here."

"But I want to sit next to Peach."

"Too bad. Move."

With a dramatic, drawn-out sigh, Marth slowly lumbered over to the other side of Samus. Then, glaring at Pit's smug smile, he scooted over as far as he possibly could without falling off of the chair.

But they were all too happy to be angry for long. Pit unfurled his wings and Link gazed at them wonderingly, Samus and Peach lightly argued about flirting with the Boys, and Snake eventually wandered up to them, muttering something about electricity, causing Marth to quickly retreat to the other side of the table.

It was about five minutes until the Boys appeared, their usually set faces soft and even sporting faint smiles. But Link was more fascinated by what they carried – trays and trays of glorious food. His stomach rumbled loudly. He hadn't known how hungry he was until now

"_Thank _you, Boys," said Samus, and one of the guards, the one who seemed to be the mouthpiece of the group, responded with a wink and, "Anytime."

Link's mouth watered. Scrambled eggs, jelly and toast, golden-brown biscuits, strips of steaming bacon, and fresh fruit. He grabbed a paper plate from the center of the table and heaped copious amounts of food onto them, filling his plate primarily with fruit; his body seemed to crave something nutritious.

The head Boy turned to him. "We'll be back after lunch to escort you to therapy."

Link managed a nod, his cheeks bulging with cherries.

After they left, everybody ate in companionable silence for a while, the room silent except for the clink of silverware. There was a general happy buzz to the room, a pleasantness to the atmosphere that made him want to burst into song.

"Geez, Link," Pit remarked after Link had wolfed down his second helping. "If you eat any faster, you'll choke."

"I'm hungry."

"I can tell."

Eventually the trays were scraped clean, and the group began to bustle about, scrubbing down the table with soap and water. Link felt himself get swept up in the whirlwind of activity. Samus tossed him a mop; he caught it reflexively with his left hand.

"Oh, by the way," she said, "what's that on your hand?"

Link self-consciously picked at the brown, fingerless glove. "I don't know. I don't understand why they're making me wear this."

"There must be some reason," she said, looking confused. "That's kind of weird, don't you think? They never made _us_ do that. Maybe you're a special patient. Or –"

Pit, perhaps sensing Link's discomfort, gave her a disapproving look. "Drop it, Samus."

She pressed her lips together, poorly concealing the fiery curiosity in her eyes.

Then the chores began, and he forgot all about his hand. It was hard, physical, grueling work. There was no room for chatter or intelligent thought. All of his brain seemed to be focused on the tasks at hand – mopping the floor, cleaning the mirrors, waxing the tile, lugging around medical equipment, and doing other various jobs around the facility. By the time lunch rolled around, he was sweating with exertion.

"Ready?" asked Pit when everybody had cleared their plates.

Link felt ready. He had fallen into the rhythm of the facility. Beside that, he had made a promise to keep moving forward. A therapy session was just another step in that process.

So he joined the others in a line at the door, and allowed the guards to lead him forward into the unknown.


End file.
